In the Spotlight

(Luna's POV)

The roar of the crowd was like a drug, pulsing through my veins and igniting every nerve. I gripped the microphone tighter, leaning into the spotlight as thousands of voices screamed my name. This was my sanctuary, my battlefield, and my escape all rolled into one.

"Thank you, New York!" My voice echoed over the speakers, and the applause grew deafening. The final note of my encore vibrated through the air, and for a moment, I felt untouchable. Like nothing could reach me up here.

But as the lights dimmed and I stepped backstage, reality crept back in.

My assistant, Dina, was already waiting by the wings with a towel and a bottle of water. "You killed it out there," she said, beaming.

"Thanks." I took the towel, dabbing the sweat from my neck as I glanced behind her. The backstage area was buzzing stagehands rushing around, Vivian barking orders at someone on her headset, and a few reporters lingering near the edge of the curtain. Nothing out of the ordinary. But still, a strange unease prickled at the back of my neck.

Dina noticed my hesitation. "You okay?"

I forced a smile. "Yeah. Just tired."

It wasn't a lie. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of tour dates, interviews, and sleepless nights. I should've been used to it by now, but something about tonight felt... off.

As I walked toward my dressing room, Vivian intercepted me. Her sharp eyes were even more intense than usual, and she waved a dismissive hand at the reporters who tried to approach.

"We need to talk," she said, lowering her voice.

"Can it wait?" I sighed. "I just want to sit down for five minutes."

"No, it can't." She grabbed my arm and steered me toward the dressing room door. The moment she opened it, I understood why.

On the vanity table, propped up against the mirror, was a small white envelope. My name was scrawled across the front in bold, jagged letters.

I frowned. "What is this?"